Coven
by writing1swat
Summary: Lawrence, Kansas is full of new, aspiring witches. Sam is one of them. He just needs a partner now. Dean Colt, the new guy in town, just might be his chance. If you don't count the fact that Dean hates Sam's guts the moment he starts talking.


_Inspired by the episode _Man's Best Friend with Benefits.

**Coven**

Synopsis**: Lawrence, Kansas is full of new, aspiring witches. Sam is one of them. He just needs a partner now. Dean Colt, the new guy in town, just might be his chance. If you don't count the fact that Dean hates Sam's guts the moment he starts talking. **

Rating**: PG 13+**

Chapter 1

Sam Winchester was a witch, just like his dad, John had been and before him, Henry. On his mom's side, Mary Campbell was a Vampire Hunter. Hell, the whole Campbell clan had been nothing but hunters and holy water and bibles much like the Winchesters were nothing but spells, wands, and brooms and the occasional turning little kids into toads. Sam just thought it was cooler, more exciting if he became a witch, especially after seeing John Winchester in action that one time Sam accidentally discovered there was more to the world than driving cars, getting scholarships and living in large houses with white picket fences with a dog, a wife and four kids.

The moment Sam saw John's old library hidden in an extension of the basement, he thought he'd died and gone to Heaven or something equally as sweet. He had never been so amazed by the sheer number of books in one place before, not even the school library or public one came close to his family's old library that was filled to the brim with nothing but the history of every monster and spell and witchcraft known to man. He remembered walking down aisle after aisle, running a hand through the shelves, picking up a stray book here and there and flipping through the dusty pages with a familiar ease that made him filled him with feelings of awe and wonder.

It was only after a couple hours of spending time down there, digging through all sorts of old spell books that Sam heard it, a faint swishing noise in the far corner. He got up slowly, caution in his eyes and dread roiling in his belly, as he reached to the source of the sound in the back where the shadows lurked like an ominous presence. Anxiety built in his throat as he called out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

The swishing sound paused and for half a second Sam could feel panic try to claw up out of his belly and shoot to his throat. Someone or something is here, he thought. "Uhm, hey look man, I didn't mean to snoop or anything," he began as he stepped out of the aisle of books, hands shot up to a placating manner, but when he saw the source of the noise that just started back up in a frenzy he felt his lips dry, the words dying on his tongue.

Sometimes Sam wondered if he had dreamed the whole thing up. But he couldn't have. Especially when later that week John had shown him all sorts of neat little tricks once he learned his son was as magical as the rest of them. One of the old, dusty books his dad had come out of the basement with to help educate his son on magic had a spell to control inanimate objects, like that duster. He remembered in vivid details of the surreal encounter. The swishing had been the duster dusting the books in the air, no strings attached, no cable, no human hands holding and maneuvering it, nothing visible in sight that could be manipulating it in some way.

Now he knew it was a spell. Now he knew magic was real, that his father was a real, live, witch. That evening both Mary and John sat him down and explained to him that what he saw wasn't some elaborate illusion, or a dream or that Sam had gone crazy. It was real as Mary and John and Sam and everything else in the world. Sam thought maybe Mary and John had some loose bolt and maybe it just ran in the family, but the quip died in his head as soon as his dad took one look at him and produced a wand, then ordered Sam back onto the couch as he proceeded to light Mary's favorite light blue curtains on fire with just a quick, controlled swish of his wand.

Sam's eyes bulged, his mouth opened in a gape and his grip on the couch tightened considerably. His whole world tilted upside down and inside out that night and he barely heard his mom shrieking at his dad to put the fire out before the curtains were ruined beyond repair and he barely heard his dad's mock laughter at the sounds of his mom's demand. Later on when things calmed down, he would wonder why mom didn't just get a fire extinguisher or tried to douse the fire herself. The answer came the following few weeks when he slowly realized that his family relied on magic for almost everything and mom didn't even know what a fire extinguisher was and dad didn't have a fire alarm set up. It was ridiculous to think how anyone could live without the basics in a house but then again, not many people had magic or even that magic existed at all.

A week after the incident involving the library down in the basement, Sam decided to finally ask the question. Sam made his way quietly into the kitchen hoping to sneak up on his dad to watch him cook. It was a guilty pleasure of Sam's because he had always been a little intrigued in cutlery and whether Sam could admit it out loud or not John could make some good pasta when he wanted to. John seemed to have anticipated Sam tonight though because he was standing in front of the oven with his arms crossed and a knowing expression on his face. He was probably trying to look serious but it came across as ridiculous because of the pink apron he had on. Sam had a hard time suppressing a smile as he leaned back against the kitchen counter opposite his dad.

"You look pretty serious there, Sammy," his dad said without preamble, brows shot past his hairline.

"You too," Sam snickered.

John looked down to the apron he wore, then looked back up at his son. His face matched Sam's grin for grin. "Touché."

Behind him, Sam could see the pot in the air tilted in a slight angle that was just enough for Sam to be able to see the mixture from where he was at but not enough so that any of the liquid could spill out of the pot. The large wooden spoon stirred the red sauce mechanically on its own. Sam tried to imagine what the world would be like if everyone used magic for daily things like cooking and cleaning.

"I see you're pretty busy cooking, dad," he said keeping his eyes pointedly at the pots in the air behind him.

John glanced back and just shrugged. "Sometimes spells come in handy. I had a feeling you'd show up again while I was cooking and I really prefer to talk to my son without having to worry about messing up dinner." He then looked around the kitchen as if trying to spot something lurking in the shadows. "You know how your mom gets when I accidentally burn the chicken or pasta."

Sam couldn't help but chuckle at that because it was true. Mom was a mad lady at dinner and everything had to be perfect or near perfect or there was sure to be an explosion.

"Ok. You got me there. But since you knew I was coming, you probably already know what I was going to ask," Sam said.

John tilted his head as he took a long look at him. "The library, right? This is about the library?" At Sam's nod, John looked thoughtful. "It has always been down in the basement but it's not like it's right there for anyone to notice if they happened to come wandering down looking for a beer or two."

Sam looked slightly surprised at the explanation because it had been right there, the door half way open for him to wander inside. John ran his hand through his hair as he continued, "It's not right there for anyone without the magic in their blood and even then it'd still be a shadow unless they have a lot of magic in them or they've been _awoken_."

That last part piqued Sam's interest and he felt his heart flutter. "Awoken?"

His dad smirked. "You know, _chosen_." He emphasized the word with a lazy drawl. "Come on, Sammy. Not just anyone can use magic. You know that. You have to be picked."

Sam stared at him, his mouth hung open. "Picked…by whom?"

John just shook his head, his tongue clacking behind his teeth. "Not by 'whom', by what. Witches are picked the laws of magic. Only the pure good can use magic. That way we don't get any powerful crazies in the Coven."

Sam fell silent at the simple explanation. Most of this stuff was new to him but he had heard his dad talk about the Coven a few times to mom. From what he gathered it was basically just a word used for the community of the magical. For example, once you were born a witch, you'd be a part of the Coven until you died.

"Who makes the laws?" Sam asked.

His dad seemed to delight in Sam's ever growing curiosity which was just fine with Sam because he sure had a lot of questions. "The Angels," John said without hesitation.

Sam felt his eyes widen, having not expected that answer. Before he could ask if angels were really real or if John was just messing around, mom entered the kitchen wearing nothing but a ridiculously thin, silky nightgown that barely covered her lacy, pink underwear. Sam's face felt hot red when he saw his mom and dad's brain seemed to short circuit and Sam realized there was no way he'd get any more answers out of John tonight.

He made do with the next night where he cornered dad once again in the library, sorting through a large pile of books on the history of monsters. Sam had wondered about those for days. He had always assumed both dad and mom were witches. It made sense since Sam had magic in his blood that both parents did too. A couple hours later, he was being sat on the couch with mom on one side and dad to his other, a sense of déjà vu ringing in his head.

Mary was born in the Campbell clan which apparently consisted of hunters and not the regular deer kind either. She hunted demons and vampires as a hobby, sometimes with dad tagging along to work out a new spell he had learned or was creating, testing the kinks. It was almost as insane as being a witch and Sam wasn't sure which was cooler. Then mom showed him her collection of favorite weapons and everything Sam thought he knew of the world just flew out the window then and there.

He picked up a large silver crossbow that was practically the length of his arm. He aimed and tried to test it on the wall but Mary just scooped it from his hands and put it back in the trunk with a look that asked Sam what the hell did he think he was doing. He shrugged and picked up a pistol, turning it over and wondering what it was doing in a collection of favorites because it looked like any old pistol he saw on TV before he saw the intricate pattern of a rose. He raised it to get a better look at it and before he could ask, he heard the explosion, the pistol ricochet in his hands.

Glass sprayed over them and Sam felt frozen in place, unsure of what happened. Dad looked amused as he swiped a few shards from his shirt and mom, well, he was pretty sure he had never seen Mary look so mad before. Needless to say, after mom's lecture, Sam was not allowed to touch the trunk without supervision again and even then, he had to ask for permission before he could pick up a weapon.

He decided that being a hunter was far more trouble than it was worth, and besides, nothing like that ever happened to witches. Magic was both easier and cooler so to Sam it was a win-win.

It wasn't until near the end of the year that John noticed Sam's intrigue in magic didn't dissipate, in fact he looked eager and willing to learn everything there was to know about the Winchester lifestyle. That summer had to have been one of the hardest and most interesting summers he ever had because John decided to take up on his son's offer and train him in witchcraft.

Three years later and Sam was still one of the worst witches in history. John said it was because Sam was a late bloomer when it came to magic. He should have been able to use his magic at a much earlier age. Apparently 17 was supposed to have been the point to which Sam's magic peaked. But it was when his magic had been unlocked and granted the privilege in exploring a whole new world behind the façade humanity lived in since the beginning of time. Sam's magic was still growing even at the age of 20 and he still didn't get the hang of controlling it.

John seemed put out a little today and just told Sam to read some of the books. Sam didn't mind too much. He liked the hand to hand lessons as much as reading the text. He liked learning about the history behind things regular folks called lore because now he knew it wasn't lore, it was all real and he was living it. This was his life.

Sam flipped through a few passages until he came across a peculiar page full of images of witches. There was a robed witch waving her wand over a person, looking like she was preparing some ritual. He flipped to the next page to find the same witch looking down on a cat. Sam's brows furrowed and he casually flipped back to see the previous image of the witch standing over a man kneeling before her with his head bowed. The page after had a cat instead of the man and Sam read the caption below the image to himself out loud, "This is the witch, Rosaline Ann, with her familiar, Almond Carter, during their initializing ritual." Sam's eyes bulged as he read the passage next to it.

"With every witch in the Coven, there lays a partner to bring about true potential." He shut the book closed, his heart stuttering in his chest. This was it, the answer to his problems. Dad was getting more and more disappointed with Sam's lack of control lately and he had wondered for a while if maybe he had truly reached his potential and this was all he would ever be as a witch. He learned a couple of simple spells through the years like controlling inanimate objects such as the broom and sweeper to do his chores but nothing much more complicated than that because it took too much of Sam's concentration and whenever Sam made one small mistake he got frustrated and sometimes even angry with himself. Dad had to call breaks between sessions on more than one occasion so that Sam could get better control of himself.

Maybe finding a partner would be the answer though. He got up with the book clutched tightly to his chest and made his way up the stairs, intent as ever to ask John about it.

* * *

Dean Colt had always been a little…odd. See, he had this problem where every time he was sexually aroused, he changed. Into a cat. It sure as hell made sex awkward. Dean was a tall, gangly preteen when he had his first crush in middle school to a black skinned girl named Cassie. She was sweet and kind and pretty and Dean really, really liked her. He asked her out within the first few weeks of her transfer and really, just who could resist Dean at his most charming? So in 1995 in Virginia, Dean dated Cassie.

And that lasted up until he realized what was happening to him _down_ there whenever he saw Cassie and pictured her in all of her perfection. When he raced to the bathroom at school to get rid of his embarrassing arousal, boy was he in for a surprise when he stepped out of the stall and took a good look at himself in the mirror. Dean realized to his growing horror that day that he could scream like a girl in distress when he really set his mind to it.

His nightmare only grew as he aged. At sixteen, when his crush on a new, hot neighbor by the name of Sarah moved in next door became too apparent, he had to shut the blinds to his room to stop himself from watching her undress for bed. Because if he wasn't careful he would wake to cat fur all over his bed and god, the hours he spent at the laundry on his bed sheets alone that month. Dean shuddered and slammed the door to that horror.

It was two years later when his father Samuel Colt caught him red handed in the bathroom because he forgot to close the door in his hurry to jack off before his problem came out to play. Needless to say, his father got an eyeful of something he never wanted to see and Dean was red as a tomato the rest of the night. Thankfully his cat side clawed too late at the invisible wall Dean drawn up as he ejaculated in his hand.

"I uhh," Dean, for once, was just lost for words.

Amazingly enough his father seemed to understand and shook his head, stopping Dean in his tracks, relief visible on his face, "I'll just, uhm, leave you to it." Then Samuel was walking awkwardly back down the hall, bathroom forgotten for the moment.

Dean slouched down the wall and tugged his zipper back up.

Of course the day after, he accidentally slipped the blinds back as he made his way to his bed and caught a glimpse of Sarah taking off her bra. Dean felt a twinge in his jeans and rushed to the bathroom in a panic too late. He walked in human, and moments later came back out on four legs and a tail. Dean hated his life. Really, he so did.

That night when Samuel called Dean down to dinner, Dean pretended not to hear him, even as he heard the march up the stairs until Samuel's head peaked around the door to look for Dean. His eyes fell to Dean's cat form.

It was the longest talk Dean ever had…ever. "I turn into a cat whenever I get an erection," Dean mumbled into the table, face hidden from his father.

This had to be more embarrassing than talking about bad sex, or sex period. There was a long pause and Dean tried to imagine what Samuel was looking like right now. He must be in shock, he thought. Because if Dean ever heard that coming out of someone's mouth, he would be too.

Just as he wished for the ground to just swallow him whole and end his existence, he heard his father clear his throat. Dean didn't look up until he heard Samuel call his name. "I uhm, I know you probably don't think I'm qualified to have this talk with you…" Samuel said and Dean snorted, because really, how can anyone be? Samuel ignored Dean's sounds of indignation. "Look, I know it's awkward and you think it's plain out abnormal but it, uh, isn't. Really."

Dean thought this conversation was all sorts of ridiculous. "It is awkward and it is plain _abnormal_, dad," he said pointedly. "I mean how's it natural to turn into a cat? I fucking turn into a _cat_. When I think of sex. A _cat_. You know, that thing that spits out fur balls and plays with yarn and eats out of a dish bowl and walks on all fours? The thing that isn't freaking _human_!" By the end of his tirade, Dean realized he was standing and shouting at his father. But who could blame Dean?

Dean was breathing hard, hands trembling as he clutched to the table for support. Samuel just sighed and said, "I know, Dean. I know you think it's not natural. I mean, that's how you were raised all your life, right?" Then he gestured to the plates in front of them as Dean stared back like he lost his mind. "Now sit back down and eat up. After dinner, I promise I'll explain everything to you."

Dean's world turned upside down that night.

Even six years after Samuel explained to him who and what he was, Dean still couldn't come to terms with it and fought it every step of the way. It was insane to think that he was more than just human, that he had magic in his blood. "This is crazy, you know that, right?" he had said to Samuel that fateful night years ago.

Samuel had sighed heavily. "Yeah I know, Dean, but it's all true. You've got magic in you and the Angels chose you."

"Why?" Dean asked.

Samuel just shrugged. "Who really knows the workings of Angels? Maybe they placed Witches down here to protect this world, humanity."

"But why?" Dean pressed. "Why us? And to protect from what?"

"Demons," Samuel said simply.

Dean didn't get any more from Samuel after that. But it wasn't too hard to find information on Demon lore over the internet. With Dean's intrigue piqued, Dean tried to pester more out of his father, anything else.

"Just teach me a spell or something," Dean said.

Samuel sighed and hit the mute button to the TV screen as he glanced over at his son. "We're not that kind of witches, Dean," he said in a low voice.

Dean raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

"We're partners to Witches. Real witches use spells and charms and books. We don't. We're…different," Samuel said. He seemed to sway in the chair he was sitting on as he pondered on how to explain. "Our magic is more…natural. Just concentrate on something in your mind; you'll be pretty surprised on what can happen when you do." Then just like that, with his father facing him, the remote on the little table beside him, the TV blasted with sound.

Dean stared at the TV with huge eyes. His mouth was shaped in a wide 'O'. "How did you…but you didn't…"

Samuel just grinned and the TV became mute again.

The magic was cool. But that was the only sweet thing out of this deal as far as Dean saw it. He sighed as he turned the radio on.

"As far as I can tell, Dean, the city that seems to be projecting the most magic in the country is in Kansas," Samuel had told him after Dean told him he wanted to find the largest gathering of witches. "If you're looking for witches, Lawrence is the place you'll want to be. But hey, Dean, be careful. Witches sometimes don't see eye to eye with us. Sometimes…sometimes, you'll come across folks stuck on the old times, where we're looked down upon." Samuel had that worried look he sometimes got ever since he told Dean the history of witches. He offered to come with Dean when he declared what he wanted to do but Dean shot him down.

Dean just smirked and mock saluted before jumping into the Impala. "Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

It was most definitely true what Samuel had said about Lawrence having the most magical potential. He felt an unexplainable pull the closer he got to the state border.


End file.
